Motorbikin'...
Every now and again, usually when the weather warms up, and always on a Sunday around 10.30am, the husband raises the question of whether he can have a motorbike again. I should say at this point that it isn't me saying he can't have one. As a semi-retired biker myself, I always have a soft spot for the husband when he's leathered up, and would welcome the appearance of two wheels and an engine in my garage again.
However, there is a stumbling block...ask our children how they feel about us getting motorbikes again, and this is what they say.
Son number two : 'No problem, as long as I can have one too'.
This will never happen - he couldn't cope with Helmet Hair being the fashion icon that he is...
Daughter number two : 'Mmmm...Is this something you feel strongly about?'
The analytical one - making us think about the pros and cons...
Son number one : 'Do what you like...'
Far to busy with his own life to worry about us - probably didn't even hear the question properly.
Daughter number one : 'If you get another bike, I will never speak to either of you again'.
Definitely the weakest argument against us buying them. She needs to work on her threats.
But yesterday I caught the husband out. Walking into his office, there on his computer screen was a full frontal photo of a KTM bike. I didn't say anything to him, as we're all allowed to do a little window shopping (even men) but getting into his truck yesterday morning, there were brochures scattered across the back seat, full of pictures of the same bike.
He looked suitably embarrassed when he realised I'd spotted it, and started muttering about how it was the perfect bike to go touring on, as it had panniers on the back. Panniers? This screams of 'old man's bike' to me. I prefer the slightly dangerous, raw kind of bikes which sound like a tractor with whooping cough. Not very ladylike, I'll give you that, but you'd definitely know I was behind you.
So it looks like I might have to buy my own bike if he goes ahead with the purchase of the Steve Davis equivalent of motorbikes (it's reliable, safe and slightly boring).
My bike will be the one in the corner of the garage swearing and snarling at the dogs as they walk past. The one with a bad attitude and a reputation for trouble.
A bit like my good self, I suppose...
However, there is a stumbling block...ask our children how they feel about us getting motorbikes again, and this is what they say.
Son number two : 'No problem, as long as I can have one too'.
This will never happen - he couldn't cope with Helmet Hair being the fashion icon that he is...
Daughter number two : 'Mmmm...Is this something you feel strongly about?'
The analytical one - making us think about the pros and cons...
Son number one : 'Do what you like...'
Far to busy with his own life to worry about us - probably didn't even hear the question properly.
Daughter number one : 'If you get another bike, I will never speak to either of you again'.
Definitely the weakest argument against us buying them. She needs to work on her threats.
But yesterday I caught the husband out. Walking into his office, there on his computer screen was a full frontal photo of a KTM bike. I didn't say anything to him, as we're all allowed to do a little window shopping (even men) but getting into his truck yesterday morning, there were brochures scattered across the back seat, full of pictures of the same bike.
He looked suitably embarrassed when he realised I'd spotted it, and started muttering about how it was the perfect bike to go touring on, as it had panniers on the back. Panniers? This screams of 'old man's bike' to me. I prefer the slightly dangerous, raw kind of bikes which sound like a tractor with whooping cough. Not very ladylike, I'll give you that, but you'd definitely know I was behind you.
So it looks like I might have to buy my own bike if he goes ahead with the purchase of the Steve Davis equivalent of motorbikes (it's reliable, safe and slightly boring).
My bike will be the one in the corner of the garage swearing and snarling at the dogs as they walk past. The one with a bad attitude and a reputation for trouble.
A bit like my good self, I suppose...
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